Chapter Text
PART ONE
The Rabbit, The Cats and The Plain White Rice
SHIGETA HARUA
If you ask him about the boy he met this morning, Shigeta Harua would rushingly scream out — a cat!
Not a name, nor a how or where, just a simple three-letter word, a cat.
Do not get him wrong. He is actually eager to tell you all about it. About the breathtaking boy, who possesses a gentle smile, that ended up putting a stupid grin on Harua’s blushing face, plastered there the whole day as he daydreamed about him; about their future first date, and their future first kiss to be shared under the future starry night.
However, as he currently tires his soles and limbs while the heaven tries to rain, it serves as a story for another day. Right now, he needs to see someone. Someone that might be able to help his hopeless case of newly found crush.
“Kei hyung!” Harua called.
His booming voice stirred amidst the murmurs of people enjoying their cozy afternoon. This marring of peace by the wide-eyed teen rouses some gapers as he catches his breath. His lungs, that were about to burst, are suddenly filled with rich aroma of coffee and sweet cinnamon. And before the resounding chimes cease with the widely open door, he rushes his way to the counter.
“Kei hyung,” Harua called again, a little softer this time albeit holding the same enthusiasm that was translated through slamming of both hands on the ivory countertop, his two front teeth taking the spotlight.
“Harua,” the freshly employed college student greeted calmly, halting his current task of drying some espresso cups, “you’re…,” Kei trailed, confounded by the boy in front of him, who, ironically, is giddily smiling despite being, “…drenched”.
This receives a carefree shrug from the younger before instinctively raising his left arm for cursory wiping of wet forehead. This feeble effort to dry himself is accompanied by an awkward chuckle complemented with bunny lines from a crinkled nose. Making the older to laugh lightly at him, familiar with the gutsy and unabashed attitude Harua gives, a lingering habit acquired from boyhood.
Kei then grabs a fresh towel and personally tends to the younger, gently placing it on top of the boy’s head and proceeding to tenderly squeeze moisture from his hair.
Harua will never admit it, but he enjoys these moments when the older dotes on him, like he is his favorite younger brother, treating him better than Kei’s actual biological ones — Taki and Ni-ki, the polar opposite twins.
He grew up with them. The sons of the uncle next door, who is also known as, dad’s best friend. It was not unexpected for them to spend most of their formative years together. Something that Harua is very thankful for — finding ties beyond blood, a chosen relationship built by belonging and enduring bonds that shape their lives, and at its core, a love from a found family.
As the pat drying escalates to shoving adoration on the younger’s face, a man emerges from the kitchen.
“What brings you here Rua?” the man inquired, voice a little stern.
This made Harua nervous. He knew coming unannounced might get him in trouble, especially when a week prior, they — Harua, Taki and Ni-ki — were specifically told not to visit during working hours, unless necessary.
“Fuma-nii,” Harua greeted.
Peeking through Kei’s shoulder, he delivers the sweetest expression he can muster, all the while praying for every God out there to spare him from his older brother’s earful of questions and potential scolding.
“That’s not an answer,” Fuma demanded, head tilted and arms crossed as he leans on the kitchen doorframe, left foot tapping at a certain rhythm.
Harua’s brain shifts to full gear. If he lies, he would inevitably get caught. This is his older brother, he would ask questions, and Harua, as clever as he is, was never the best at winging things under pressure. His safest bet is to tell the truth.
“I need to borrow Kei hyung’s phone,” he stated simply, trying to play it cool.
“What’s wrong with yours?” his brother probed, knowing fully well Harua takes good care of his belongings.
“Nothing,” he answered truthfully, “I just need to ask Ni-ki something,” he added.
“Why not ask him directly?” Fuma interrogated.
This is a valid question, he could have asked Ni-ki directly, but they were not as close as he is with Kei or Taki. Not that they do not hang out or anything. Ni-ki is still family, not just the type he would directly ask about a crush. They might not be the closest, but he still knows him well, the side-eyes and the teasing would never end.
“Just cause,” Harua tried to evade.
Which is not really a good decision as of the moment, because, now two pairs of curious eyes are observing him. Now, Kei wants to know too.
“Okay, what about Taki?” Fuma continued to investigate, “you could’ve borrowed his”.
This, again, is a valid question, he could have asked Taki — the closest with him amongst the brothers. Who, by the way, is also his seatmate at school. But that is also the thing, he knows Taki best, and Taki was never, ever, EVER, good at keeping secrets.
Which leads him back to Kei.
The oldest of the brothers is the perfect agent for this mission; a. Kei does not go to their school; b. he might be curious but will never probe; c. he might tease him, sure, but, most importantly; d. Kei can keep a secret.
Except, he might tell Fuma about it, but Harua will cross that bridge when he gets there.
Seeing how the younger’s eyebrows furrow deeper by the second, Kei and Fuma look at one another, faces mirroring each other’s curiosity and concern. Both of them wanting to know the truth, although in very different ways.
“Okay,” Kei pronounced before fishing his phone from his pocket and handing it to its borrower, “do not change my wallpaper,” he quipped with a smile.
Harua beams at this, looking at his older brother for permission, and with Fuma being Fuma, he gives in and nods in silent acquiescence.
Thereafter, like an answer to Harua’s prayers, the timer for the croissant waffles beeps from the kitchen. This prompts the two part-timers to prepare it for serving. And as they meet by the doorway, Harua hears his older brother whisper, ‘you spoil him too much’.
With the acquired phone and newly found privacy, he carries out with his mission — getting the boy with the gentle smile to like him, so he can ask Harua to go on their future first date, to which he would say yes, and then they can share their future first kiss under the future starry night.
Kei and Fuma suddenly hear muffled squeals, ‘do we have mice?’ one of them asked, only to be followed by the other, ‘who is kicking their feet on the floor?’
The mouse who is kicking his feet, is currently composing his message for Ni-ki.
Why Ni-ki? You might wonder. Well, that’s part of the story for another day, as you can see our protagonist is currently occupied, so, we just need to wait for that part of the story.
Cat, friend, room 209.
Sent.
Harua is proud of this. The message is too cryptic for Kei to understand but vague enough for Ni-ki to get. He trusts the younger's deductive skills, he can feel it, he is just minutes away to getting a name. Then he will make his crush aware he exists, and then the future first date, and the future first kiss under the future starry night.
Cue another muffled squealing and feet kicking.
Before long, Kei gets out of the kitchen to double check the order and to signal Fuma which table to serve. Beside him, Harua’s elbows are propped on the countertop with his palms cradling his chin. The towel, that the older used to dry him, is still sitting on his head, its mitered corner serves as a pacifier as he frolic in the illusory clouds around him.
“That’s for the table,” Fuma goaded as he passes him by.
“Eeeeeh,” Harua shrieked sitting up right, “Kei hyung!” he wailed as he flings the towel to the eldest.
“It’s clean, it’s clean,” Kei blurted as he catches the cloth mid-air.
“Eeeeew,” Harua groused while he aggressively wipes his lips on his sleeves.
“It’s clean, I promise,” Kei reiterated between laughter.
This good-natured josh and chatter dies the moment the phone dings, making the younger to nimbly grab it from where it is buzzing.
And there, across its blinding screen, is a name.
A name that reads,
Jungwon Yang.
YANG JUNGWON
School is something that he genuinely enjoys; waking up early in the morning to avoid being late, hanging out with friends during lunch break, attending taekwondo practice in the afternoon and juggling school council duties in between.
An eventful routinary life.
It is an easy feat for a good student like him, all he needs to do is manage his time properly and everything will fall into place. He is keen to the idea that the effort he puts in will be translated through the high marks he will receive at the end of the semester.
So if you ask Yang Jungwon why he is stressing over a pink envelope that he found on his desk, he would say it is because of a black cat.
A big black cat.
“I did not see him as a romantic,” Sunoo supplied as he examines the envelope with an imprinted letter ‘J’ on it.
“Who?” Sunghoon inquired, “and what is that?” he added to his query as he points with his spoon before digging it in on his tiramisu.
The envelope, which is highly likely to be an enclosed love letter, ended up at their usual spot in the café. The three of them decided to wait there for the others rather than in the gym full of teenagers trying to get a photo opportunity from the players.
“I’m not sure if it’s actually for me though,” Jungwon averred.
“Wonie,” his best friend called incredulously, “you saw him place it on your desk.”
This renders him speechless, unable to deny the event he had witnessed earlier, rather by chance.
On his way to get a towel he embroidered, with his own two eyes, from the widely opened door of their classroom, he saw the exact same envelope on someone’s hand. A hand which is connected to a boy. A boy that is popular, although it seems he does not know it himself or he is used to the attention he receives from the world around him, or simply, he just does not care.
But these are the least of his worries, the thing is Yang Jungwon has a secret, a big black cat of a secret.
The loud chiming from the door peals as four athletes enter the establishment. Two of them are bickering about who did better, one quietly biting on the towel over his shoulder, but all of them carrying uniform duffel bags.
Jungwon watches as they approach their booth, his gaze zeroing on the boy in front who is sporting a plain white shirt. His wet hair smartly combed, significantly refreshed from the sweaty game that they just won earlier.
“Hey,” Jay greeted once within earshot.
To which Jungwon offers a friendly, yet, coy smile.
The group’s riotous attempt to fit in a booth for six people commences when Jay swiftly slides next to Jungwon, with Heeseung following suit, three of them filling the left booth. Simultaneously, a loud yelp erupts in front of them as Jake and Ni-ki engages on a head-to-head for the last available seat. Which leads to an eventual adding of lone chair for Sunoo — the ever giving ENFP.
Once settled, the youngest made his way towards the counter to greet his older brother. He was accompanied by Jake, who was tasked to order for the group after losing a bet from earlier. This grants the other five a deserving moment of peace.
“You’re flushed, are you okay,” Jay asked Jungwon, concern evident on his voice as it fans to the younger’s face. Only possible with their bodies being naturally pulled together when in close proximity, an accustomed dynamic for the both of them, and even the group had long acclimated to.
“Yes, hyung,” was his short answer, furnished with an assuring smile.
Yet, Jay’s warm hand starts to soothe his back. And with their abreast position, he sees the gradual turning of pursed lips into a pout of apprehension and concern.
“He’s okay,” Sunghoon piped in to help the younger, “just another admirer,” was then added apathetically.
And as if those words were not enough to set Jungwon searching for an absolving excuse, Sunoo decides to chip in.
“Although this time, it’s a pretty good catch,” was Sunoo’s contribution before innocently sipping on his mint chocolate frappe.
Suddenly the gaze beside Jungwon changes, he can feel it — now curious, now a little sharp.
And before he can try to salvage the situation, the last nail in his coffin was hammered shut.
“It’s Jo Asakura” Sunoo supplied proudly, “the tall, handsome, incredible Jo Asakura”.
ASAKURA JO
He describes himself as a slowly paced person, the type who never really likes to hurry in life. He never made one step more than necessary, not wanting to overstep a boundary, moreover, someone’s personal space.
So if you ask Asakura Jo about the boy he saw in their room one afternoon, clumsily scurrying away after getting caught, he would nonchalantly say — a rabbit.
An adorable rabbit.
It is a lazy day for Jo, as usual. The on-going basketball game is taking too much energy from him. Not that he does not appreciate the sport, it is actually one of the few things he genuinely enjoys. But being a spectator amidst the sea of students in an enclosed gym tires him more than being an athlete in the court playing the game. Fortunately, sitting closest to the door warrants him a short route to the exit.
As he sneaks outside, the antagonizing heat huffs on his face, a warm welcome from the autumn sun. Shying away from its relentless gaze, Jo walks under perfectly rowed Sakura trees, wherein the season had shed its pink blossoms, exposing a mixture of bronze and rust. As he makes his way to their building, he follows a trail of auburn leaves, silently giggling to the crackles and rustles they make as they meet his feet.
At the end of this path, he was greeted by a beautiful muse — a great landscape portraiture. The wide horizon is dominated by acres of blue where cauliflower clouds bloom on top of one another, seeking to enshroud the sun. Below it, the succession of canopies are painted in pumpkin orange to blazing red, a stark contrast to the bright greenery in front of him.
Wanting to graze on its beauty, Jo lays on the grass. He opens his limbs widely, like a starfish, not caring of the way he looks from someone else’s point of view.
He tries to comprehend the sky. How vast it is. As he continues to look, the world seems to grow larger than he ever imagined — overwhelming but beautiful.
“This is life,” he whispered to himself.
A foretaste of the solitude he dreams of — to live peacefully in the countryside, painting patiently as he waits for death to come. Quaint and simple.
Smiling, he closes his eyes to feel the life around him.
The grass that pricks his skin are soft and warm. Each blade gives a gentle tickle as it moves with the breeze, as if convincing Jo that they are alive, as alive as he is. The cheers earlier are replaced by the prelude of cicadas rhythmically whining in chorus, a symphony they prepared for him, solely for his ears.
Breathing in the crisp October air reminds him of his late grandfather.
His Ojii-san.
When he was little, his grandfather would let Jo sit beside him as he paints, asking him questions about what he learned from school that day, or if his favorite color changed or how is his cat, Mint, doing.
He loves those days he spent with him. A memory he holds dearly. Especially, the moments he hands him a brush to paint with him. To the seven year-old boy who does not understand anything about hues, tints and shades, but somehow the paintings always come out fine. The sunset looks like the sunset and the clouds look like the clouds.
When he was a bit older he asked his grandfather why he loves to paint. And without sparing him a glance, he answered with, “it reminds me of your Obaa-san.” His voice was tender, a little sad, maybe, but peaceful.
At that moment, Jo did not really understood what he meant. How the blue sky or the grass, especially the cow, guises as a reminder of his late grandmother. It does not help that there is not much for Jo to remember her by, given that she left them for heavens the same year Jo was brought to this world. What Jo knows, from being told often, is that they share the same eyes.
All of a sudden, the sun sends its golden rays over his face, asking him to look. But as he squints to it, the sun glares back ruthlessly — perhaps it is time to get up.
He reaches room 209 shortly after. But, as he reaches for the door, he hears some rustling on the other side. Though very faint, it is evident that someone is inside. Which is something Jo did not anticipate, because there was a roll call earlier at the gym and all of them yelled present.
Should he open the door? It might just be a classmate. Maybe someone left before him, this might cost him a polite bow, but at least it is not some random stranger.
Again, he reaches for the knob, only to retract it for the second time. He might not have a photographic memory, but he is an observer, and he knows for a fact he was the first one to leave the gym, only minutes in on the second quarter of the game.
So definitely a stranger? A faculty perhaps? But why would a teacher go inside their room.
Is it a thief?
Quickly sliding the back door wide open, he saw a figure stills.
A boy, couple of inches smaller than him, is looking at his direction. They were six rows apart but he can clearly see a pair of wide eyes, full cheeks, and, bunny teeth peeking through agape mouth.
They were both quiet, unmoving for more than a reasonable amount of time: Jo, for not knowing if he needs to question the stranger meters away from him, the stranger, from the fear of getting caught. The quiet ticking of the clock serves as a timer on how long they stare at each other, until footsteps from the hall stirs them.
The boy’s hair ruffles with the breeze as he scurries to the front door, and without a second later, Jo was finally alone. Well, him and a pink envelope that he saw gliding in the air, abandoned by the boy who is clumsily scurrying away.
Again, he is one of those slowly paced people. The type who never really likes to hurry in life. He never made one step more than necessary, not wanting to over step a boundary, moreover, someone’s personal space.
He never really given an idle look, he did not allow himself that superfluous gesture.
Yet, inexplicably, he finds himself walking towards the front row, which is the opposite of where he seats, picking up a pink envelope that was flown by the wind and placing it back to where he thinks it was supposed to be. On the desk where a towel is neatly folded and embroidered with a name — Park Jay.
PARK JONGSEONG
Park Jongseong adores Yang Jungwon.
He felt it the moment he met the boy at the school gate one night. When he lend him taxi fare since the boy had lost his wallet and it is too far and too late for him to walk alone in the dark.
He knew it that one afternoon when the boy skipped a class. For him, for the first-time.
They became inseparable after that.
So if you ask Jay why he is still not with him at the cafeteria, where they are supposed to be having lunch, he would say it is because of plain white rice.
“Jay, if looks could kill, he would be dead by now,” Jake cautioned on his side, accompanied by a light smack on his shoulder.
Was he staring? He did not know, he did not intend to. But it does not help that it is 12:08, meaning they are eight minutes late, and yet Ni-ki seems to be taking his time inside the art room.
“What’s taking him so long?” he snickered to no one in particular while he subconsciously rubs the arm Jake just hit, “and who eats plain white rice?” he criticized as he continues to observe two gangly teenagers from the outside window.
“We do,” this one was from Sunghoon.
“Just plain white rice,” he clarified before eyeing the opinionated loud introvert.
It has been a week since the incident that involves a pink envelope, and it also been a week since he did his research about the oh so incredible Jo Asakura.
Jungwon’s admirer is apparently otherworldly, seraphic, according to that one fan page Jay visited when he looked him up.
Okay, maybe five fan pages.
Okay, ten.
But that does not matter. Those are subjectively inaccurate anyway, just mere facts that are obviously biased and unhelpful, like;
‘Jo Asakura wins the poll as the most good looking student two years in a row’
‘Asakura-san, with his perfect proportions, walked the runway today’
‘Jojo, as called by his family, spends most of his time painting different sceneries in his free time’
‘Jo-kun is so nice, I saw him feeding the cat outside of the school this morning’
‘Asakura used to be a part of the basketball team in middle school’
‘Jo can eat five portions of plain white rice’
‘The oh so incredible Jo Asakura likes Jungwon Ya-‘
Before this train of thought reaches its destination, the door of the art room slides open. It produces Ni-ki, who mumbles an apology before proceeding to playfully throw punches at Jake, a usual physical banter between them.
The four flow with the sea of students in the third floor hallway, taking a minute or two before reaching the cafeteria, where they then maneuver through cluttered tables and benches. However, much to Jay’s dismay, a particular boyish grin is nowhere to be seen.
“Where is Wonie?” he asked as he approaches their table, three friends in tow.
“Student body duty for the event next week” Sunoo forwarded simply as he scoots closer to Heeseung to make space for the others. But before everyone can settle in, Jay is already back in the hustle and bustle on the hall, running.
Knock, knock, knock.
He taps at the student council door, fixing himself as he waits for an answer — straightening his uniform, using the back of his hand to pat his forehead before subsequently gliding both palms on his hair, even smelling himself for safety measures.
Yet again, when the door finally opens, who greets him is a boy inches taller than he was expecting to.
“Jay,” the governing president addressed him politely, his big round eyes glints in familiarity.
“EJ,” he greets back, “is Jungwon inside?”
This receives a nod from the gentle giant. “He’s …” Euijoo trailed before offering an empathetic smile, eventually gesturing and providing space to let the visitor peek inside.
Through the door of the student council room, Jay saw Jungwon sleeping. The vice president is eased on a desk, his body crouched languidly as he nestles his head on propped arms that serves as pillows.
‘Buy neck pain relief patches later,’ Jay mentally noted.
Suddenly, a vibrating sound thrummed next to him.
“Nicholas?” Jay asked as he turns his attention back to Euijoo.
“Yeah,” the president confirmed, “he’s hounding me with calls since lunch started,” he shared, eyes rolling a little.
This receives a hushed pfft from Jay, ‘classic Nicholas’ he thinks to himself. He is well-acquainted with the dynamic these two have, having built a friend group named 02z, coined by Euijoo after discovering they all share the same birth year.
“Just leave me the keys,” Jay proposed, “I’ll give it to Jungwon once he wakes up,” he added for assurance.
Euijoo throws an “ah” at this, characteristically nodding before fishing something from his pockets.
“Thank you,” the president conveyed, handing the keys with both hands, ever so polite and considerate.
Jay takes them, also with both hands as to return the courtesy.
“By the way,” he called before letting Euijoo go, “your br— ” he cut himself off, thinking if this is the right way to handle things.
The taller, now looking at him, carries a face drawn in puzzlement.
“Nevermind,” Jay dismissed “I’ll just talk to him personally,” he added before shooing the gentle giant away.
Closing the door behind him, he walks over and occupies the seat next to the sleeping teen. He leans in to observe closer, trying his best to not make any noise in the process.
The boy’s right cheek, rosy as usual, is squished as he angled his face to the right, allowing the older to heed on his features — from the long lashes of his cat-like eyes, the tall bridge of his nose, the plump curves of his slightly opened lips, down to his dimpled cheeks.
Jay fondly smiles at this.
“Kyeopta”, he mouthed.
Before he met Jungwon, basketball was the only meaning of Jay’s existence. Every point done is an exchange to every sweat shed, and every win is another golden moment in the sun. But as he spends more time with the boy, he became doubtful of that. Eagerly wanting to finish practice to have lunch with him, rushing every laps in the court to walk him home, and even lying to the coach every time he wanted to take him out on a date.
Maybe the truth is he has been waiting all along for someone that would change him.
Maybe basketball is not his first love after all.
“Jay-hyung,” a voice called, a little raspy, still dazed from its nap, “what time is it? why didn’t you wake me up?” Jungwon pouted as he sits upright while simultaneously rubbing the remnants of sleep away from his eyelids.
“Because I don’t want to, you we’re sleeping so soundly,” Jay reasoned, slowly reaching his hand to gently brush Jungwon’s hair.
The receiver leans in to the gesture, smiling shyly when Jay tuck away some stray hairs behind his ears.
“Wonie,” he called him softly.
“Hmmm?” the boy answered in return, eyes peering at the older somnolently.
“I love you,” Jay whispered, only loud enough for both of them to hear.
What you do not know is they are officially together, for almost two years now. Kept as a secret as per Jungwon’s request, a decision Jay respects.
He remembers it vividly.
That afternoon the bell had already ushered every student and locked them inside their classrooms. Yet he found himself on the rooftop, awakened from a nap that was longer than he intended. His head was resting on someone’s lap. Then his sleep-dazed eyes found Jungwon hovering over him, face serene, peacefully humming to a song Jay made him listen to, fingers languidly brushing against his scalp.
That was the moment Jay knew.
And he told it to the boy then and there.
No apprehension, no fear nor hesitation, having no time for any of it.
The blurted confession was stated like a gospel from within, just another fact, another part of who he is, witnessed by the butterflies that fluttered inside him. The same butterflies that erupted when Jungwon offered a sweet chuckle, hand placed primly in front of his mouth, its palm turned towards his grinning lips.
“Me too, hyung” was the answer he received.
“I love you too,” followed after that.
That day, Jay would never forget how surprisingly blue the sky was.
So, yes, it is true, he might never win the poll for the most good looking guy at school, might never walk a runway show nor hold a brush for the entirety of his life. But none of those matter to Jay, for he is the person that Yang Jungwon loves.
And no amount of white rice can change that.